The Melody Lingers On (7 page)

“I know she does, at least on some levels. She is redecorating my mother’s town house in Montclair without charge.”

“See what I mean?”

Over dessert Eric talked about his father. ‘It would be impossible to describe a better dad,” he said. “Busy as he was, my mother and I were his first priority. He never missed
a school event that I was involved in. When I joined the Boy Scouts I got it in my head that I wanted to go camping. He told me he’d go with me. He bought all the gear, learned how to pitch a
tent, and found a camping ground in the Adirondacks. We made a fire and cooked over it. Everything we cooked got burned. When we went to bed, we were both cold. We couldn’t get to sleep.
Finally at about eleven o’clock he said, ‘Eric, do you think as I do that this is a ridiculous situation?’ When I fervently agreed, he said, ‘Then let’s bag it.
We’ll just leave all this paraphernalia here. I’ll call the office of this place and tell them it’s theirs. They can raffle it off or give it away.’ ”

“So I guess you never made it to Eagle Scout,” Lane said.

“Actually I did. I didn’t want to be a quitter.”

He took a sip of coffee. “Lane, although I lost a lot of clients because of my father, I’m still a good trader, and I’m rebuilding. But I gave every nickel I had saved or
invested to the government to help pay back the people who lost their money.”

“Do people know that?”

“No. I requested that it be kept quiet. I knew what the response would be, that I was just trying to look good.”

“Damned if you do and damned if you don’t,” Lane suggested.

“I would say so.”

This time they caught a cab immediately after leaving the restaurant. At the apartment building Lane started to say good night but Eric said, “I’ll see you to your door.”

When they got off the elevator, he asked, “I promise you that I won’t delay, but is it possible to see if Katie left me those two cookies?”

“I know she did. Come on in.”

The cookies were on a paper plate on the coffee table. Katie had drawn a smiley face on the plate.

Eric reached down, picked up one of them, and took a bite out of it. “Delicious,” he pronounced. “Thank Katie for me. Tell her I love it with lots of chocolate chips, just the
way she made them.” He picked up the plate and said, “I’ll eat this one on my way down in the elevator. Lane, I’ve enjoyed this evening very much. And now, as promised,
I’m out of here.”

Less than a minute later Lane heard the whine of the elevator going down. Then Wilma Potters came down the hall. After Katie was in bed Wilma had made it a habit to sit on the comfortable chair
in the small den at the end of the hall and watch television.

“Katie went to bed promptly at eight thirty,” she volunteered. “Did you have a nice time?”

Lane hesitated, then answered, “I had a very nice time, Mrs. Potters. I really did.”

M
arge O’Brian sat nervously in the anteroom waiting to be called into Rudy Schell’s office. What did I do wrong? she asked herself. Why
would the FBI want to talk to me? It had been only yesterday that she had gone to New Jersey following the moving van that had brought the contents that had been selected from the Bennett mansion
for Anne Bennett’s new home in Montclair, New Jersey.

With the help of Lane Harmon and two workmen Lane brought with her, she had unpacked boxes of china and books and clothing so that when Mrs. Bennett arrived the next day the town house would not
be cluttered. Lane had told her that the spread and drapes and vanity skirt would be in next week and she would be there to see that everything was exactly right.

She’s such a nice person, Marge thought, and the town house is so pretty. The furniture fit in like it was made for those rooms. And it’s so cozy. When Mr. Bennett was around he
filled the mansion with his presence. But poor Mrs. Bennett rattling around there alone was kind of pathetic.

Why did the FBI call her again last night? She already talked to them two years ago. What did they mean when they said they just wanted to ask her a few questions? They didn’t think she
was in on the money disappearing, did they? No, of course not. All they have to do is take a look at my bank account, she thought.

I’m going to miss Mrs. Bennett and Eric, she thought. They were always so nice to me. Mr. Bennett was too, she added defensively, but I was kind of scared of him. When he got mad,
wow
! His rages came on suddenly. Like the morning his new Bentley had a stain on the cushion of the front seat because the chauffeur had spilled coffee when he was waiting for him in front
of the house. He had fired the chauffeur on the spot but then came into the house and started shouting at Roger, the butler, who had found him.

“The next time I hire one of your slob friends and have a problem it’s your neck too,” he had said.

When Mrs. Bennett said, “Parker, all Roger did was call the agency and they recommended the driver,” he had turned on her too. “Anne, can you ever get over treating the help as
your dear friends?” he had snapped. “It’s too bad you never could understand that you’re not helping out in your father’s delicatessen anymore.”

But that was only one part of him. The next day he rehired the chauffeur, apologized to the butler, and bought Mrs. Bennett a gorgeous diamond pin. I saw the note he had put on it. It read,
“To my long-suffering darling.”

“Mrs. O’Brian, Mr. Schell will see you now.”

With lagging steps Marge followed the man into Rudy Schell’s austere office. But the moment she walked in the door it was a relief when the man behind the desk stood up and with a
welcoming smile greeted her and invited her to sit down. He can’t be going to arrest me or something, she thought.

She quickly found out that that was the last thing on Agent Schell’s mind. “Mrs. O’Brian, it’s been almost two years since you spoke to one of our agents. Now that Mrs.
Bennett is moving to New Jersey, are you planning to continue to work for her?”

“I’m sorry to say that I’m not,” Marge said. “I always went home at night. There’s no way I can make the trip from Connecticut to New Jersey five days a week,
and even if she wanted me to live in, there’s no way I’d want to be that far from my grandkids. They’re always over at my house.”

Rudy Schell nodded. “I can understand that. Please don’t think I’m asking you to be disloyal, but as you must know Parker Bennett has ruined many lives. People who trusted in
him have lost their homes, their retirement funds, and their ability to help their families. But I am asking you to think. Was there ever a time when you overheard either Mrs. Bennett or her son
indicate that they knew whether or not Parker Bennett is alive?”

Marge sat quietly. There was one time. Only two weeks ago. It was the night Mrs. Bennett shouted at Eric. But it wouldn’t be fair to repeat that. Unless it was just the stress of her life
causing it, Mrs. Bennett was slipping into early dementia. She repeated herself a lot. Anyhow, what she said sounded crazy.

“Mrs. O’Brian”—Rudy Schell’s voice was encouraging—“just looking at your expression, I have a feeling that you are trying to decide whether or not to
tell me something. Please remember that if Eric Bennett and his mother are innocent of any knowledge of Parker Bennett’s crime, we stand ready to publicly clear their names. As it is there is
plenty of suspicion that both of them were in on it. But if you heard anything that might help us to recover that money you really must share it with us.”

Hesitantly Marge began, “Less than a week ago after dinner I couldn’t help but hear Mrs. Bennett scream at Eric.”

Rudy Schell did not let a flicker of emotion show in his eyes or manner. “What was she saying when she screamed at him?”

“I can’t give you her exact words but it was something like this: ‘Eric, I know your father is alive and you know it too. Tell him to call me. Tell him I don’t care what
he’s done. Tell him to call me.’ ”

Marge took a long breath. “But remember, I think Mrs. Bennett may be going into dementia and maybe that’s something she just got into her head.”

“It may have been,” Schell said soothingly, “but it was right for you to share it with me. Now I must ask that if you speak to either of the Bennetts you will not tell them
that we have had this meeting.”

When the door closed behind Marge O’Brian’s departing figure, Rudy leaned back in his chair. I always thought that guy was involved, he thought. Even his mother thinks he is.

Now, how do we prove it?

A
nne Bennett slept late the first night she stayed in her new home. When she woke her head felt clearer than it had in months. Or maybe even since
that terrible day that Parker had disappeared from the sailboat.

He had gone for the weekend to St. John, where he kept his sailboat. Eric was supposed to fly down with him on the plane but was delayed at his office and didn’t arrive until the next
day.

I begged Parker to wait until Eric could sail with him but he got angry, Anne thought. He asked me if I thought he was incompetent. I knew enough not to say another word. He went out that
morning alone. The sea was choppy. He never came back. They found the sailboat smashed against the rocks in Tortola.

She blinked back tears, which so often spilled over when she thought of Parker. It was nine o’clock and time to get up. She threw back the comforter, reached for her robe, eased her feet
into her slippers, and went downstairs to the kitchen. She turned on the Keurig coffeemaker and waited until the “ready to brew” indicator went on. Less than a minute later she was
carrying the cup to the table. I don’t feel like eating anything now, she thought.

Then she glanced out the side window that looked over the driveway. Sitting at his kitchen table was that nice man, Tony Russo, who had come over and introduced himself when Eric drove her here
yesterday a few minutes after the moving van arrived.

He had said that he had just moved in as well and that he was opening a restaurant on Valley Road. Then he said that he wouldn’t delay us but he wanted me to know that he’d be back
and forth every day and that I should please call on him if I ever needed assistance of any kind.

Lane had told her that there was a privacy shade being made and would be installed next week when the spread and draperies arrived.

Russo had his computer on the kitchen table. Anne quickly changed seats to avoid catching his eye. I won’t have to pull the shade down if I sit in this seat, she thought. I’ll just
pull it down at night.

She finished the coffee and brewed another cup. While she was waiting she thought again about what she had screamed at Eric last week, that she knew Parker was alive and so did he.

I had too much wine at dinner, she reminded herself again. The idea that Parker was still alive was probably wishful thinking. She still could feel the thrill of the moment all those years ago
when Parker had called her from his office and asked her to have dinner with him. She was so scared that it had been obvious from that day on the subway steps that she had a terrible crush on
him.

He was so handsome and so smart. It got around the office that he had received a huge year-end bonus. That night after work I went straight to the delicatessen to tell Mom and Daddy that I was
going out with him.

Mom was delighted. Daddy was dismissive. “Why wouldn’t he ask you out? You must be the prettiest girl in that company. If he acts like one of those playboy big shots and tries to
make a pass at you, you’ve got to promise me that you’ll march out of that restaurant and take a cab home.”

Daddy got even more upset when he heard that Parker was picking me up in a car.

“You could have met him at the restaurant and taken a cab home.”

By the time Parker and I were married six months later Daddy still didn’t trust him, she mused. He didn’t like it that Parker insisted we get married at that ritzy St. Ignatius
Loyola Church in Manhattan. Parker said that he didn’t want his friends trekking out to our parish church in Brooklyn. It was a big wedding and the reception was at The Plaza. Daddy was angry
that Parker insisted on paying for everything, even my wedding dress. Parker said that he didn’t want me to buy something off the rack in Macy’s.